“I’m safe.” Somehow, knowing he couldn’t just run out and join her made it feel like she was too far away.

Rain mixed with hail lashed the windows. Damn! Had he remembered to close the apartment windows this morning? Had she? He wasn’t going to ask. This would be a new thing for her and she would fret.

He sighed. “It’s started. I’d better go. You stay with Jester.”

“I will.”

“And don’t let Sam go out, not even to pee.”

“I won’t.”

“And if Skippy rushes out, don’t you follow him.”

“I won’t. Geez, Simon, are you becoming a micromanager?”

He didn’t know what that was, but it sounded like an insult—and it sounded like something he should bite.

He grunted and hung up. As he went downstairs, it occurred to him that feeling a little insulted by Meg’s teasing had cheered him up.

To: Douglas Burke

I hope this gets to you. Reliable sources say the Cel-Romano troops stationed in the land taken from the terra indigene have disappeared. Lots of blood and smashed equipment; some body parts—and indications that at least some of the men died from an unknown kind of plague. Some speculation that soldiers from “provincial” areas deserted and are making their way home, but it’s assumed that most of the men stationed in the wild country are dead.

Fishermen from mainland villages situated on terra indigene land warned Brittanian fishermen that Cel-Romano is “about to get some weather” and advised the men to stay close to home.

—Shady Burke

CHAPTER 50

Earthday, Sumor 1

In Lakeside, lightning struck any moving vehicle with uncanny precision while rain rushing in house gutters roared like Talulah Falls. Streets became swift-flowing rivers. Roofs leaked. Basements took in water. And everyone prayed to the gods and their personal guardian spirits that the rain would stop before the creeks overflowed their banks too far.

Then a fierce north wind blew the rain south, and a dense fog covered the city of Lakeside with an odd silence.

And then they entered Lakeside to roam the streets for prey, and the worst of them walked on two legs.

• • •

Douglas Burke grabbed Louis Gresh the moment the rain lightened to drizzle and that damn fog covered the city.

“Take your men and hold the back door,” Burke said with quiet urgency. “Keep it locked. Keep everyone in, and I do mean everyone.”

“Storm’s over,” Gresh protested. “We should get out there now.”

“Louis, the storm hasn’t started yet.” The men were restless, coiled to get out there and help. Gods above and below! Did his men think he felt any different? But if they went out too soon, they would be among the victims instead of being the rescuers.

“Hold that door¸ Commander.”

Louis studied Burke’s face, then nodded and went off to set up a barricade at the station’s back door.

Satisfied that Gresh would stand with him, Burke hurried into his office. He wasn’t sure if Police Commissioner Kurt Wallace had landed at the Chestnut Street station by chance when the storm hit or if the man had thought hiding among officers who had been labeled Wolf lovers would keep him safe. But Wallace was still a vocal HFL supporter, and having him here at the same time as Nathan Wolfgard was creating a dangerous kind of uneasiness among some of the civilians and cops who weren’t quite convinced that the HFL movement was about to become as extinct as the dinosaurs.

After checking to make sure a round was chambered in his service weapon, Burke took two more loaded magazines from a desk drawer and slipped them in his suit coat pocket.

As he strode for the door, he stopped and turned around. “Nathan?” The Wolf had spent the past couple of hours in here—and forced the station’s chief to host Wallace in order to keep the two apart. Now the visitor’s chair held the clothes that Nathan had worn, but there was no sign of the Wolf.

Hoping Nathan wasn’t in danger inside the station—or about to attack anyone he considered an enemy—Burke strode through the building, pushing past a group of people heading for the station’s front door. He locked the door, stood in front of it, and drew his weapon.

“No one is leaving yet,” he said in a voice that allowed no discussion or challenge—at least not until the chief or Wallace confronted him.

He would deal with them if and when the time came.

• • •

Something moved outside the Pony Barn. Meg couldn’t hear it, but she knew it was there, felt the weight of its presence on her skin.

She tightened her grip on Sam, not that he seemed inclined to leave any space between them. Skippy, for once showing sense, had burrowed in the straw at the back of the stall. Jester stared at the barn doors as if that alone would keep them closed and keep everyone safe.

All the ponies who weren’t out with the Elementals poked their heads out of their stalls, but Tornado and Quicksand came out and faced the doors.

Jester glanced at Meg, then focused on the doors again.

She felt nothing like prophecy under her skin. No pins and needles, no prickles or buzzing. Because none of them had a future? Or because she should already know the choice she should make?

We are here, still keeping watch. Still protecting the world.

Meg raised her head. “Arroo!”

“Shhhh,” Jester whispered.

“They need to know we’re here. Arroo!”

“Arroo!” Sam howled.